


Bent

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:19:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield is slowly recovering from the Battle of the Five Armies but he might need a little help along the way.





	Bent

“Mahal’s sake!” Fili frightened you as he burst through the door, “I swear, it never ends.”

“Mmhmm, so it seems,” You set down the book you had been reading in the privacy of your solar.

Several times you had been disturbed by both Durins as they complained of their own wounds or those of their uncle. Fili’s arm was still in a sling and he hunched rather awkwardly as he walked, though he seemed to have forgotten his pain in his irritation. Kili’s ribs had been cracked and so he kept to a moderate pace, but both princes had recovered marvelously compared to the king.

“I can’t believe that horse’s arse,” He sat across from you, taking your unamused gaze as an invitation, “You know, he threw his dinner at me? After I brought it too him?”

You noticed the spot of gravy splattered across Fili’s tunic and nearly grinned. It would have been comical if it weren’t for your own experience of the king’s state. Thorin had been sentenced to bedrest for weeks after the battle and when Oin had advised him otherwise, he had refused to rise for another week. His moods had grown dark and inconsistent, with him swinging from one extreme to the other.

“Oh,” You set aside the novel and sat up, “Well, apparently he also tried to wrestle your brother at lunch.” You shook your head grimly, “The last I saw of him was more than a fortnight ago. I told him if he was going to be so intolerable, I’d not bother with him. Thus, I’ve been seeing to the Mountain and those who should be arriving soon enough…the king’s in no state to do so.”

“No, he isn’t,” Fili grumbled as he twiddled one of the braids which hung from his golden mustache, “Even Dwalin’s sworn him off. Nearly tore the door off yesterday and taught me curses I’d never heard before. He may not be the most eloquent but he has quite the vocabulary.”

“That he does,” You could see the humour in the situation but if Thorin continued on so, he could not be expected to rule, “And Balin?”

“Well, after tonight’s episode, I think he’ll be the only left with the patience for my uncle,” Fili shrugged, “And even he’s got his limit.”

“Mmm,” You squinted as the gears turned in your head, “I see. You’ve come to me for a reason.”

“I know you’ve already chosen to shun him but the rest of us haven’t the strength to bear him any longer.”

“And what makes you think I would?” You challenged.

“You were the first to call him on his nonsense,” Fili explained, “And you’ve not the familial obligation. Besides, I seem to recall you had no issue rebuking him upon the journey.”

“Yes, but I didn’t enjoy having to do so,” You sighed, “Dwalin’s truly resigned?”

A knock kept Fili from answering and you looked up to find Balin standing in the door way, your door still ajar from the prince’s rash entrance. “Oh, Mahal,” You mumbled darkly.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Balin stepped inside, the lantern illuminating the moisture spattered across his front, “Though, I think not.”

“You, too?” You gestured to his stained vest, a fleck of potato in his white beard.

“He seemed to disagree with the notion that he should leave his chamber,” Balin neared your desk, his pale eyes saddened, “I’ve not any more sense of how to help the stubborn dwarf.”

“Fili’s just informed me of his own clash with the king,” You pushed back your hair, trying to ignore that little voice in your head, “I think it may be prudent to simply let him be.”

“It may…but I fear another descent,” Balin stroked his beard, pulling forth the potato with a grunt, “We cannot give up on him so easily.”

“We?” You echoed dubiously, “It’s sounds as if you two already have.”

“Please, Y/N,” Fili pleaded, hands together, “For us…For the Mountain. If he tosses his dinner at you, you can walk away, but please, try?”

“Hmm,” You rubbed your cheek, staring at the cover of your discarded book as you thought. It was tempting to simply pick it back up and bury your nose in the pages, yet you knew you would not be able to focus on the words, “Fine,” You looked back to them, “I’ll try, but I’ll not be gentle.”

“Do what you must…If only Dis were here,” Balin lamented.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” You stood, stretching your shoulders as if readying for battle, “Right…so, I guess I’m off.”

“Y/N,” Fili stood as you rounded your desk, “Good luck,” He patted your shoulder, “You’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” You accepted dryly, “Just know that if this goes poorly, you’ll not be left unscathed.”

“You’ll be fine, dear,” Balin ushered you away from the prince, “Better to start sooner than later, though.”

* * *

You marched down the corridor, having left Balin and Fili with one final glower.  _How weak they were._ To enlist you to face the king. From all you had heard and your own rift with Thorin, you had little confidence in the endeavour. _What could you do differently from the rest?_  Sure, you did not let your loyalty to the king colour your demeanour towards him but it did not make handling him any easier.

When you reached the door of the king’s chamber, it was surprisingly tranquil. No sound came from within and you were hoping he had already retired for the night so that you could delay the inevitable just a little longer. Weeks ago, that very corridor was endlessly busy, a flurry of coming and going. Oin to see to the king’s wound, Balin and Dwalin to check in on his condition, other members of the company to visit their liege devotedly.

You paced the hallways several times before stopping before the door, raising your hand precariously. You knocked, softly, quietly; hoping among hope it would not be heard from the other side. Alas, fortune came crashing down upon you as you heard a stir from within. A ferocious grumble and heavy footsteps, the handle clicked and you braced yourself for the tempest.

Thorin snarled as you stood before him, trying to shove the door back into place as you set a hand upon it. You held it open and stepped inside, “Good evening, Thorin.”

He stepped back as you swept by him, a look of stunned impudence upon his face. You peered around the room, remnants of his tantrums across the table and carpet.

“Sorry,  _your majesty_ ,” You corrected yourself as you turned back to him, “You may as well close the door. We’ve much work to do.”

“Work?” Thorin rasped.

“Yes, you and me,” You gestured between you, “Are going to clean this up. We don’t want it turning fowl and smelling up the whole chamber.”

He was speechless as he watched you take a kerchief from the table top and the basin from atop his bedside table. You dropped the cloth into the lukewarm water and pressed the bowl against his chest until he was forced to wrap his arms around it. You searched around for another cloth and knelt beside the putrefying stew across the carpet.

“Come on, the longer we wait, the worse it gets,” You sniffed emphatically and gagged, “Well?”

As you stared at him expectantly, he was too confused to protest. Slowly, he shuffled over, limping on his tender leg, and lowered himself carefully as you offered a hand in aid of him. He pushed it away and set down the basin, taking the cloth reluctantly before turning his attention to the carpet. You dipped your own cloth into the bowl and helped as he scrubbed the stew out.

“Now, I’m still curious to know what this is all about,” You said as you worked, “Tossing stew on everyone.”

“I don’t answer to you,” He growled, keeping his eyes to the carpet, “You’ve no right to reproach me.”

“You need to learn to clean up your own messes,” You sat back on your heels, looking at him as he avoided your gaze, “I’ll not continue to help you do so. You’re fortunate I’m even here.”

“I didn’t ask for your presence.”

“Well, no one else can stand you,” You replied, “You cannot rule a mountain if you ostracize everyone within it. Your subjects will arrive soon and there is much work to be done.”

“I am well aware, I  _am_  the king,” He looked directly at you.

“You are,” You dropped your cloth into the basin with a plunk, “So you best start acting like one.” You pushed yourself to your feet and turned to examine the room, “Now, all you’ve left is the table and then you should get yourself abed. You’re still healing and we’ve much to catch up on,” You crossed your arms as he used a chair to climb to his feet, “I’ll be here in the morning and we’ll begin.”

“You’ll not get past the door,” He warned but set to washing the table, a hint of shame in his tone, “I can tend to my own duties.”

“Oh, you will tend to your duties,” You tilted your head, “But I’ll be here to make sure of it.”

Thorin’s lips twitched and he bared his teeth at the tabletop. You heard a whisper of khuzdul, obscene to be certain. You shrugged off his malice and watched him wipe away the stew.  _This would be a task indeed._

* * *

_Tap, tap, tap._ The head of the ebony cane echoed down the corridor as you hit it against the wall with every step. You stopped before the royal door and knocked with the walking stick, waiting for a response. It came quickly as Thorin opened the door with a sneer, though you were surprised he had answered at all.

You held out the walking stick to him and he eyed it warily.

“For you,” You kept it aloft, “I told you, we’ve much to do and you’ll not get much out that leg without it.”

“You’re insatiable,” He muttered and snatched the cane, turning away to hobble across the room, “I’ve yet to break my fast, however.”

“Oh, we’ll be doing so together,” You assured him, “So move along and get dressed. You must look a king.”

He glared at you over his shoulder, pulling tight the belt of his dressing robe before he dragged himself over to his armoire. You sighed and looked around the chamber, pretending to be distracted by the stonework around the hearth. You listened as he retreated behind the screen and then to the bath chamber. You turned back as he re-entered, his skin pale, and you felt a pang of pity.

“Sit, I’ll get your boots,” He pouted but kept silent, letting himself fall heavily onto a chair. You might have worked him a little more than you should and you might have been too optimistic in your planning.

You grabbed a pair of leather boots and plunked them before him. “You should be able to handle the rest.”

He shoved his feet into them with a growl, mumbling as he tied them intently. He had managed to brush his dark waves away from his face, his overcoat bore gold embroidery along cuff and collar, and for the first time in ages, he looked like the monarch he was. You retrieved the cane from where he had left it and put it against the table next to him.

“Alright, you’ve got you boots on, let’s go,” He glared up at you darkly and reluctantly reached for the walking stick, pushing himself up, “I apologize, I’ve yet to find a crown big enough to fit your thick head.”

“Y/N,” He leaned on the cane, angling towards you, “You’ve already pressed my patience so far, you’ll not last the day if you carry on so.”

“You mean you won’t last,” You countered slyly, “Now, hurry up. We haven’t got forever.”

* * *

The tray was heavy but you didn’t mind. It would be all the better to bash Thorin over the head with. You had made it through the day but he had only grown increasingly agitated. You had brought him to the forge to consult with those still trying to restore it and to the throne room to inspire him for his impending coronation. When the dwarves returned from Ered Luin, he would be expected to don his crown.

You had allowed him frequent breaks without being obvious, slowing your own frantic pace so that he did not tax himself. Even so, his moodiness remained and yours piqued. You offered to fetch his dinner, more so as a respite than a favour, and he limped away towards his chambers.

You kicked the door as you approached and stood for a moment before you realized there would be no response. You kicked again, harder and louder, causing more pain to yourself than the door. You swore as you finally heard movement from within and the door opened to reveal the king who was none too subtle in his amusement.

You entered, nearly swiping him with the tray, and carried it over to the table.

“No ale tonight,” You announced as you uncovered his meal, “It’s no good to drink as much as you do while you’re still recovering.”

“Mahal, Y/N, you’re not my mother,” He moaned as he neared, eyeing the food despite his agitation, “You cannot tell me not to drink.”

“And you’re not a child so don’t whine like one,” You retorted, “From what I can tell, given your tendency to throw your food around in your little tantrums, it’s best you spend a night sober.” He grimaced as he sat and you slid his plate before him, your own dinner having to wait until you finished with him. “Believe me, I don’t enjoy having to watch over you.”

“You don’t have to,” He speared a slice of carrot, “To be honest, I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Let me set it plainly to you, Thorin,” You placed your hands flat on the table as you looked him in the eye, looking directly at him, “If I wasn’t here, no one would be. You’ve driven away your own nephews and your oldest friends.”

“They weren’t any help,” He grumbled, “Fretting over me like I was some sort of invalid.”

“They were concerned,” You argued sharply, “Listen, I know it’s…difficult. The battle was not what we expected, the journey was long. Mahal, I almost lost my eye and look little better than orc,” You alluded to the ragged scar around your left socket, “We all suffered. We’re suffering still.”

“You don’t know,” He looked away, “You can tell my nephews and whoever else out you up to pestering me that I’m fine. Now go.”

He gripped his fork tightly and you frowned. “You even think of throwing that food at me and you’ll get worse.”

“Are you threatening your king?” His blue eyes turned to ice.

“No, I’m not, for you don’t act very kingly.”

“You treasonous snake!” He stood, his injured foot nearly giving out under him, “I could have you executed.”

“Go ahead,” You met him in stride, glaring at him despite your nose barely reaching his chin, “Prove yourself to be mad to all those too afraid to even look at you.”

“Apologize,” His voice was low and dangerous, “Now.”

“Apologize?” You questioned,  **“After everything you’ve done, you’re asking me to apologize for snapping at you once?”**

“I’m commanding you to apologize to your king!” He raised his voice so loud it nearly shook you, “Now!”

“I know you Thorin,” You scoffed, “I know you’re not so mad as that. Insulted, ashamed, lost? Yes, but you’re not mad. You’re still the dwarf you’ve always been.”

“You don’t know me,” He retorted and fell back into his chair, “Leave me be.”

You watched him spear another carrot, his blue eyes focused on his plate. He chewed slowly, his hair falling forward around his face and you saw his brow twitch. He was too embarrassed to look at you. You turned away, leaving him to his sulking as you hungered for your own dinner.

* * *

An entire week. You could not believe you had managed to put up with the dwarf that long. With every morning, your hope that it would be fortuitous diminished. The night before had ended in silence. Thorin had stared you down over an inventory Balin had written up. In it was listed the repairs made to the forge and those still needed. The king claimed to be too tired but as he had done little more than sit in his throne as you argued with him, you were certain of his dishonesty.

Exasperated, exhausted, and close to the brink, you stormed out and opted for a full night’s sleep instead. Sadly, all you could managed was to roll back and forth as you fretted over the king’s obstinacy. It was not enough for him to fill your days with misery, he must also occupy your nights.

You strolled along the stone floors, ready to confront Thorin for the nth time. You would truly let him have it. He had the manner of a bull and he was a wound festering in your side. He was fortunate that any bothered with him and didn’t leave him to wallow in his bitterness.

The knock at his door was hollow and went unanswered. You rapped again and yet no sound or movement came from within. Worry began to rise along your spine and neck as you knocked a third time and still no response. Warily, you grasped the handle and pressed the lever until it clicked. The door opened slowly, ominously, into a grim dark unmarked by any light.

The soft light of early morning was kept out by thick curtains and even the fire was dead. You could hardly see in the dim and you felt around blindly until you found the single candle atop the king’s writing desk. You found the flint not far and struck the wick, a small orb of light spreading around you.

“Leave me alone,” The voice was quiet, broken almost, “Please.”

“Thorin?” You could no longer feel the anger which had driven your footsteps down the corridor, “Are you well?”

“Leave me,” He ordered but there was little strength in his tone.

You found him curled up atop his bed, his covers messed up below him and his hair hanging down over his face. His knees were bent and his arms crossed as if shielding himself from some unseen force and his blue eyes stared starkly ahead.

“Are you in pain?” You asked softly as you sat beside him on the mattress.

“I…” He rasped, “Don’t know.”

You reached over to brush away the hair from his forehead, the silken waves falling back easily. He looked at you and closed his eyes, turning his head into the pillow as if to hide. You had heard of this sickness before. That which is borne of battle. Borne of blood and scars.

“How about we stay in today, Thorin?” You offered, not removing your hand from his head, instead continuing to stroke his stands gently, “I’ll make tea and have some food sent up.”

“I want to be alone,” He grumbled into his pillow.

“Well, too bad because I’m not leaving,” You slid down the bed until you were laying beside him, “Look at me,” He reluctantly did so, a hint of tears teetering at the corner of his eye, “I’m going to draw you a bath and you’re going to get washed up…and you’re going to relax, alright?” He just stared at you blankly, “Then you’re going to get dressed and we’re going to have tea. Nothing else, okay?”

He nodded and sniffed as you sat up, tugging on his arm until he did the same. You smiled at him and stood, squeezing his arm before disappearing into the bath chamber. You were glad no one else had seen Thorin thus. It was better that they thought him to be a cranky old miser than the broken dwarf sitting in the dark.

* * *

You had finally brought yourself to leave Thorin, if only for a moment. You had been concerned as he slunk of to the bath chamber but you dared not hover over him whilst he washed. That would be a bit much. Instead you focused on brewing a pot a tea and running to Bombur in hopes of a light breakfast.

With the king having eaten and him engrossed in a novel you had dug out of an old trunk, you felt it was enough to keep him distracted until your return. You were not surprised to have him prove you wrong as you raced back up to his chamber and entered to find the novel face down on the floor and the king with his arms crossed as he glared at the burning fireplace.

“That’s an awful boring book,” He moaned, “I’m not a child, you can’t just sit me in the corner and have me read.”

“Thorin, that was not my intent at all,” You sighed, the bundle under your arm feeling less triumphant than it had a second ago, “Besides, I think I’ve found something much better.”

“Another book?” He grumbled as he planted an elbow on the table, leaning on it in dramatic melancholy, “How many times must I ask you to go?”

“I may just, soon enough,” You returned, “Here,” You set the heavy object, still hidden beneath the cloth on the table with a metallic clunk, “Go on and tell me to go again.”

Thorin stared at the shrouded gift, though it was more so a discovery. It was his by rights and Balin had finally uncovered it from the ash which lingered in the Mountain. The king huffed and lifted his hand, sitting straight but his hand froze as he took the object and felt its familiar weight. You saw his face pale and flush all at once.

“How did you–?” He pulled back the wool and the silver harp shone in the firelight; you had made sure to have it polished and the strings replaced, “This is my harp…I haven’t seen this since—Y/N,” He looked up at you with astonishment, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s yours,” You took another chair and placed it across from him, “Now, I’ve not found it just to have you to admire it. Play me a song.”

“What?” He rubbed a thumb along its curve and bit his cheek, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, go on, I’ve seen you play before,” You urged.

“Yes, but not on this,” He freed the instrument of its cover and set it on his knee, “I guess I could try.”

“Please,” You smiled patiently as he ran his fingers along the strings, searching for a tune in his head.

“Alright,” He succumbed as he held it in place, “If only to have you quiet for more than a minute.”

You chuckled and Thorin began to strum the strings. Delicate at first and then deliberate, until the air was filled with a song you could not name. His eyes closed and for a moment, his cheeks brightened and he smiled, forgetting himself with the music. He played without pause and you listened intently, basking in his artistry until the strings fell silent.

“Beautiful,” You lauded and he set the harp back on the table, “I’ve never heard you play so well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” He stood and neared you, “But I think I want to be alone.” He offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Sure,” His voice did not possess the same sorrow as when you had arrived that morning; he had earned some time to himself, “Tomorrow.”

He led you to the door and opened it for you, nearly stunning you with his courtesy. It had been a long time since you had seen this side of Thorin and it sparked the hope which had been slowly dying. You bowed your head in farewell as you stepped through the door and he did the same, his lips curving just slightly. It was the first time you had left and not been ready to tear him apart.

It was not much, but it was something.

* * *

The day was brighter than most. In a figurative sense, of course, as you had not even chanced upon the outside world. You woke, washed, dressed and set out for your day with Thorin. You prayed he was not as he had been the day before; huddled in bed, defeated, damaged. Your boots slid upon the stone as you turned the first corner and nearly found yourself toppling Fili.

“Oh, Y/N, what luck,” His tone was menacing, if not foreboding, “I was just about to knock on your door.”

“You were?” You frowned, “Please, I can’t handle any bad news right now.”

“No, it’s Thorin.”

“Thorin?” You tensed, “What about Thorin?”

“Well, I think maybe I should show you,” He raised a row, “It’s quite hard to explain.”

“Right…” Your breath heaved as anxiety stabbed at your stomach, “Well, lead the way.”

Fili did so swiftly, a grin coming and going as he walked along, and you were surprised when he stopped before your solar. The door was open and you could hear humming from inside. A deep baritone carried on the air which was oddly fragrant. Erebor rarely smelled of anything but smoke and stone.

“He wasn’t singing when I happened upon him, but he was acting rather peculiar,” Fili mused as you peeked through the doorway.

Thorin had arranged a vase of flowers upon your desk and the mess you had left there was gone. All had been tidied and the king hummed as he arranged the books on your shelf. You would never have expected such cheer from him. Even before the journey. You couldn’t help but laugh and the noise caught the king’s attention, causing him to blanch as he looked over his shoulder.

 **“H-how long have you been standing there?”** He asked, rubbing his neck.

“Long enough, Uncle,” Fili scoffed, “What in Mahal have you done to him, Y/N?”

“Perhaps my good mood is the product of have been freed of your jokes for so long,” Thorin stomped over to his nephew.

“Never mind,” Fili groused and looked to you, “Well, you’re efficient nonetheless.”

“We’ve got to get the Mountain ready,” The king interrupted, “And we cannot have our counselours working in such disarray.”

“Counselour?” You wondered.

“I’ve not formally appointed you but you’ve taken the reins quite well,” Thorin assured, “Today, I want to look over that forge. Balin says the populace is not far off and we’ll need the fires burning if this Mountain is to be fully restored.”

“As you wish, my king,” You bowed your head and Fili elbowed you subtly, sharing a covert look of amusement with you.

“Nephew,” Thorin’s thick fingers squeezed the prince’s shoulders like a vice, “You, of course, have your own duties. Go find Balin and see to kitchens. Bombur cannot have done much with those two louts he has working with him.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Fili grumbled, “And Kili?”

“I’ve already sent him to help Dwalin with the lower quarters,” Thorin released his nephews, “Now run along.”

Your mouth was slightly agape as you took in the new Thorin, or rather, rejuvenated. You forced your lips closed and smiled, looking over his shoulder at your solar.

“Those are lovely flowers,” You stepped inside and admire the pale tulips; the flowers would soon shrivel with the end of autumn, “Did you gather them yourself?”

“I did, I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk around the Mountain at dawn,” He neared and you suddenly felt very heated despite the chill of Erebor, “I saw them and thought–,” He coughed abruptly as if catching himself, “They are pretty, aren’t they?”

“Very,” You ran a finger along the vase’s lip, the weight of Thorin’s gaze wearing down on you.

“Bombur is to make a feast tonight,” He announced, “I would play my harp and we’ll be merry. We’ve waited too long to celebrate.”

“A novel idea,” You praised, “Now, let us be about our work. There is much to be done.”

“Wait,” Thorin stopped you from reaching the door, blocking you with his broad figure, “I, uh…wanted to thank you. For yesterday, I don’t think, I, um,” He looked around, gulping as he struggled for words.

“I told you, you don’t owe me thanks,” You waved your fingers dismissively, “Besides, you won’t be thanking me when I drink you under the table at the feast.”

“We’ll see about that,” He grinned and moved from your path, gesturing you through the door, “The last I recall we drank together, you were not so victorious.”

* * *

Despite being as dark as ever, the Mountain had taken on a new light in less than a day. As you spent the hours inspecting the forge alongside the king and explaining the restorations already made, you had forgotten time. Before, every second with Thorin had seemed to drag by in his ire.

You had parted after going over the blueprint of the forge one last time and begging the king to release you. Somehow, he had reversed from entirely resentful to almost clingy. You wondered if it was just a high after a crushing low but the shadow of his old self assured you otherwise. It was epiphany. It was recovery.

You pulled on a clean tunic, the former plastered with dust, and brushed your hair, retying your braids tightly. You were eager to see the rest of the dwarves, it had seemed too long since the entire company had been together. It was, of course, difficult to stumble upon one member without another, but for months, the lot of you had been inseparable as you fought to reclaim your homes.

The hunger you had failed to notice throughout the day grew ravenous as you neared the great hall. The smell of freshly baked bread and savoury dishes came stronger the closer you got. A din of voices accompanied the splendid aromas and you entered the hall to find the table lined with dwarves already passing around a pitcher of ale.

“Y/N,” Fili called to you with a wave, “You look strangely happy?”

“Do I?” You mused as you neared, sitting on the bench beside him, “I think that might be the food.”

“Bombur can certainly work miracles,” Fili praised, “Just like you.”

“Oh yes, Y/N,” Balin chimed from across the table, “The king seems much recovered since you’ve whipped him into shape.”

“I did no such thing,” You protested, “He just need a little push, is all.”

“Speaking of,” Fili elbowed you as a figure entered, Thorin the last to appear, “Even he looks keen.”

“Give it a break, Fili,” You muttered, “I’m certain he would still be inclined to cuff you across the head.”

“Forgive my lateness,” Thorin announced before Fili could deliver his sly retort, “And my recent disregard,” The king approached the head of the table, leaning on the cane you had presented him, stopping only feet from you, “We’ve reclaimed Erebor at last and I failed to see the victory so hard-fought. By all of us,” His voice carried sonorously, “You all deserve my utmost gratitude. Without you, this would not have been possible. Any of it. I fear I have been careless since the battle and I cannot blame it merely upon my wounds. But I promised to be a good king to you all when we began this journey and I’ve yet to break avow in my long, albeit foolish, life.”

The table of dwarves cheered as one, their steins thundering against the table in their applause. You joined in as their chatter resumed and they soon forgot the king’s speech for the ale in their cups and food upon their plates. As you scooped spiced potatoes onto your dish, a sudden weight caused the bench to groan and you looked to your other side to find Thorin beside you.

“Y/N,” He greeted as he took an empty stein and filled it, but to your surprise, he set it before you before pouring his own.

“Thorin,” You speared a pork loin and dropped it clumsily on your plate, “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” The smile on his face was growing more and more prevalent, “This Mountain would be in shambles without you. As would I.”

You chuckled, shrugging off his compliment as you sipped your ale. Truly, you only did so out of embarrassment, trying to hide the colour you could feel rising in your cheeks. You felt Fili nudge you once more and you nearly choked on your mouthful as you turned to him sharply. The entire table was looking at you and the king and the prince was grinning devilishly.

“What is it?” You hissed.

“Y/N,” He tilted his head towards your other shoulder, “You still haven’t said what exactly you’ve done to my uncle.”

“Oh, shut up, I don’t like your implication,” You shook your head and turned back to your plate but Thorin’s eyes burned into you, drawing your attention once more form your food.

It was then that you realized how intent his gaze was. That he had not looked away from you since he had sat down and that he had drawn the attention of the rest. “Thorin,” You kept your voice low, “Are you sure you’re quite alright?”

“I’m certain of it,” He still did not look away and you smiled awkwardly, glancing over as Dwalin stifled a chortle into his sleeve, “You worry too much.”

 _Oh, Mahal, y_ ou thought as your eyes widened. Even that oaf of a dwarf could see through the king and his none-too-subtle manner. It couldn’t be possible, though. He wasn’t fawning over you, he was merely basking in his return to spirit… _wasn’t he?_

You reached for your stein again and drank deeply, trying not to melt beneath the unrelenting gaze of the diners. You focused on eating your food while keep your conversation with Thorin to a minimum. You were still trying to figure out how to react to his attentions, to convince yourself that you were not misunderstanding him.

When his plate was bare, Thorin stood and motioned to his younger nephew. Kili pulled forth the king’s silver harp from beneath the table and handed it over. Thorin took it and placed it at the head of his table, clearing his throat to silence the rest. “This harp is a symbol of Erebor. Of its rebirth. My mother gifted this to me when I was but a dwarfling and while it was lost to Smaug’s invasion, it was not destroyed. Like the Mountain. Like us.”

A reverent hush took over the company and they looked expectantly to the king as he placed a hand upon the dwarf. “If you would humour me,” He smiled and hovered his fingers along the strings before daring to pluck. The strumming of the harp was soft and velveteen, joined shortly by the smokey tones of Thorin’s voice.

 _Come live with me and be my love,_  
And we will all the pleasures prove  
That hill and valley, dale and field,  
And all the craggy mountains yield.

 _There we will sit upon the rocks,_  
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,  
By shallow rivers to whose falls  
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

You cringed as once more you felt all eyes upon you and were disappointed to find your cup empty. Balin leaned across the table and whispered, “I daresay, I think you’ve gone and made the donkey fall for you.”

 _There I will make thee beds of roses_  
And a thousand fragrant posies,  
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle  
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

 _A gown made of the finest wool_  
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;  
Fair lined slippers for the cold,  
With buckles of the purest gold;

 _A belt of straw and ivy buds,_  
With coral clasps and amber studs:  
And if these pleasures may thee move,  
Come live with me and be my love.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this way,” You heard Dwalin mutter as Bofur winked at you and motioned to the king.

 _Thy silver dishes for thy meat,_  
As precious as the gods do eat,  
Shall on an ivory table be  
Prepared each day for thee and me.

 _The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing_  
For thy delight each May morning:  
If these delights thy mind may move,  
Then live with me and be my love.

The hall went silent as the strings of the harp faded and a suffocating stillness descended upon the table. Your mind went blank and you stood abruptly, trying to step over the bench but instead tripping and falling to the ground with a yelp. You heard footsteps rush to you and did not need to look to see who it was.

“Y/N,” Thorin’s tone was concerned as he helped you sit up, “Are you alright?”

“I…” You peered over at the dozen pairs of eyes watching from the table, “Would you lot quit staring at me?”

You pulled away from Thorin and stood without grace. You glared at the dwarves and then their king and stomped your foot with a huff before turning to march to the door.

“I swear,” You declared as you neared the door, “A dwarrowdam cursed to be surround by fools.”

You tramped into the corridor and towards your chamber. That was not the dinner you had expected, though the footsteps which soon neared were not entirely a surprise. Thorin called to you and you stopped, crossing your arms as you turned back to him.

“Why’d you have to do that?” You accused, “Why’d you have to look at me like that?”

“Like what?” He stopped before you as if he had been struck.

“And why’d you have to sing that song?” Your voice was louder than you intended.

“I…” He looked perplexed as he paused, “I, uh…I’m that obvious, eh?”

“Obvious?” You squeaked.

“I mean, it may not be clear to you yet, Y/N,” He donned a wily smirk, “But you’re my One.”

“One?” You exclaimed incredulously, “Thorin, come on. We’ve know each other how long and suddenly I’m your One?”

“I don’t how I was so blind,” He nearly sang, “But I know it to be true, Y/N. You’ll see it sooner or later. I know you will.”

“Thorin, I—You are the most intolerable, stubborn, pigheaded, arse of a dwarf I’ve ever known,” You pointed at him as you stomped towards him, your finger almost touching his nose, “And I…” You searched for words, for sense in the haze that was overcoming you, “Mahal, I—I—I fucking hate you!”

You seized his collar and pulled his lips to yours forcefully, every ounce of frustration and tension poured into the kiss. You felt him smile and you shoved him away. “And dammit if I don’t love you.”

“I told you,” He chuckled, “It’s about time you listened to your king.”

“Shut up,” You warned, “And don’t you ever dare sing that song to me again.”

“I can’t make that promise,” He drew you to him and you couldn’t help an obstinate smile, “Besides, you gave me the harp.”


End file.
